


The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

by Cordelia69, Skep



Series: MusketShadow [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-06 08:11:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8741932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cordelia69/pseuds/Cordelia69, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skep/pseuds/Skep
Summary: A year is passed from the defeat of Rochefort and life has returned to normal when an invite arrives at the garrison.





	1. D'Artagnan

“I know you're here as guests but, there's still a lot to do for the party tonight, a little time and few people to do the job, so you'll help as well,” Constance welcomes them. After the event with Rochefort, the Queen has invited them to Versailles to spend the festivities with the Royal family to thank them for everything they have done. And now, on Christmas Eve they are enjoying a good breakfast before the party of that night.

“But we are on vacation!” Porthos whines.

  
“And am I not too? But the Queen asked for my help and I'm asking for yours. So now you'll help me,” she retorts, putting her hands on her hips.

  
Porthos groans as well as D'Artagnan, but the other two are strangely calm and relaxed. Aramis is even smirking.

  
“Why are you smirking?” Porthos asks, noticing his parabatai too.

  
“Because I have some important business to deal with, so I'll see you tonight,” Aramis replies.

  
“Don't be late, and don't leave anything to chance,” Constance warns him.

  
“Of course, Constance. Don't you know me?” he asks, smiling.

  
“It's why I know you that I warn you,” she states, shaking her finger in front of his face. Aramis smiles, tipping his hat as an assent.

  
“And you? What's your excuse for not helping us?” D'Artagnan asks, turning toward Athos.

  
“I have business on my own. She knew it, that's why she turned to you two to help,” Athos replies, standing up.

  
Aramis doesn't waste any time and kisses him, hard, on the lips. Athos moans in reply, deepening it.

  
“Please don't do that in front of the Whelp!” Porthos exclaims, covering D'Artagnan eyes while Constance starts giggling.

  
Athos releases Aramis, smiling at the small peck his lover gives him back.

  
“I still can't decide if I prefer this Athos or the sulky one,” Porthos states.

  
“This one. At least he's smiling a lot,” D'Artagnan decides.

  
Athos glares at both of them, before nodding at Constance and disappears outside. Aramis smirks at them, bowing a little to Constance and then follows his lover.

  
“Now, you two, come with me,” Constance orders, once they are only the three of them.

  
“If you don't mind, Constance, I'd like to borrow Porthos,” a voice resounds in the room.

  
They bow when they recognize the Queen, followed by her ladies in waiting. She's smiling and to D'Artagnan it seems that Porthos forgets everything but her in that moment.

  
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Constance replies, still bowed.

  
“Good. I'll give him back on time for the party,” she replies. She waits until Porthos is finally standing straight and turns, leaving the room with the little procession behind her.

  
“Shall we go?” Constance asks when she and D'Artagnan are the only people in the room. The musketeer nods, surrendering to his fate.

  
Constance leads him into the kitchen where most of the servants are busy peeling and chopping vegetables, blending sauces on the fire, tasting the food and doing everything they can to help. She points him to a corner, a basket full of apples near the chair.

  
“You have to peel these, cleaning and cutting them in slices. Put everything in the bowl and then come to me,” she orders. He nods, and when she turns toward the cook who is barking orders, he puts himself at work.

  
He watches Constance taking her place in giving orders to the kitchen staff, including the grumpy cook, and he smiles. From the moment they defeated Rochefort, she got in the game, working harder to reach her goal. She trained with them, beating D'Artagnan in most of the sessions, and his parabatai took her under his wing teaching her a lot. And with the new year, she'll be a Shadowhunter in every aspect.

  
He's proud of her.

  
A little girl is standing next to him when he stops looking at Constance. He notices that she's looking hungrily at the bowl where he puts the apples he already cut and he smiles. He slices a piece of the apple he has in his hand and gives that to the girl. She shyly grabs the fruit and runs away before he can say something.

  
“What are you doing?” Constance asks from behind him.

  
“That girl was hungry and I gave a piece of apple,” he says, continuing his job.

  
“Stop that. That fruit is for the dinner and if you give a piece of it to every child who roves here, there won't be enough for the goose,” she orders. D'Artagnan nods, knowing she's right and then when he registers what she has just said, he turns toward her.

  
“The goose? What have to do the apples with a goose?” he asks quizzically.

  
“The apples are the filling. It's an Alsatian recipe,” she replies, smiling.

  
“I don't know if I like it,” he says, still skeptical about the whole thing.

  
“Help me to prepare it and then you'll decide,” she states, sitting beside him and helping to peel the remaining fruit.

  
When all the apples are peeled and sliced, she brings the bowl near the fire where a pan is already full of almost cooked onions. D'Artagnan looks Constance putting the apples in the pan to cooking them, when a sweet smell reaches his nose. He follows it until he finds a woman is blending something dark that he doesn't know what it is.

  
“What is it?” he asks.

  
“This, monsieur, is chocolate,” the woman replies, still blending.

  
“Are you sure?” he asks. He definitely recognizes chocolate but this isn't. Athos brought some pieces of it to Aramis months ago and it was solid and brown.

  
“Yes, I'm sure,” she replies kindly.

  
“D'Artagnan, what's happening?” Constance asks, leaving the apples to the grumpy cook.

  
“She's saying that this is chocolate, but I know what chocolate looks like, and this isn't,” he states.

  
“That, silly, is really chocolate. The queen requested a dessert that recalls the custom of the Yule log. And the chocolate is perfect as bark. Anyway if you don't believe me and the lady, try it,” she explains, taking a spoon and dunking it in the melted chocolate. She knows that Athos bought it and D'Artagnan tried it, so she hopes he'll recognize at least the taste.

  
D'Artagnan obeys and puts the spoon in his mouth. The smell of the chocolate fill his nostrils and his palate and he moans around the spoon.

  
“See? I was right,” Constance states, smirking at the sounds the musketeer is doing. When the Shadowhunter tries to dunk again the spoon in the pot, Constance stops him.

  
“Don't. Same rule as the apples one. And besides, that's disgusting,” she scolds him. He puts the spoon on the table near the fire and follows her when she moves to check another woman.

  
“What is she doing?” he asks, seeing the woman crumbling a lot of almond.

  
“The cream for the Galette des Rois,” Constance explains.

  
“We'll eat that too?” he asks, looking at the lot of people focused on cooking and preparing the food they'll eat that evening.

  
“Yes. It was the King’s idea. He found funny to give his role to another man for a day. Of course, if the figure hidden in the cake is found by a woman it's the Queen that gives her crown for one day,” she tells him. He nods, remembering when his mother put a sugared almond, when they were lucky, or a bean inside the cake, giving him the slice containing it so he'll be the king of the farm for one day. He smiles, nodding at Constance when she looks at him.

  
“A memory from my childhood,” he explains simply.

  
She smiles at him, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. She then walks to another part of the kitchen, followed by D'Artagnan, when Porthos enters the room.

  
“Whelp, it's snowing!” he exclaims as soon as he sees his younger brother.

  
“We're supposed to working,” the musketeer states, approaching him.

  
“Yes, but the Queen was summoned by the King and I have some time to kill. So you'll come with me,” Porthos explains, grinning.

  
“Go, or I'll kill you both,” Constance says.

  
“Are you sure?” D'Artagnan asks.

  
“Yes, of course. So you'll stop giving apples away, tasting chocolate, and bothering me with questions,” she replies, laughing.

  
“Alright, if you think it's okay,” he says.

  
“Yes. Now go before I put you two to chop wood,” she orders them.

  
Porthos smiles and bows while D'Artagnan kisses her.

  
“Come search for us if you want to have a snowball fight,” he says to her when they end the kiss.

  
“I'll beat you even in this, Whelp,” she replies, smiling.

  
She gives him another kiss before ushering them outside the kitchen.

 

 


	2. Athos

Aramis doesn't waste any time and kisses Athos again outside the hunting lodge. This one is more urgent and full of wanting and promises. It's like Aramis wants to make sure Athos won't forget him during their time apart.

“I know, I know. I promise you that I'll be back before the party so we can pass some time together alone,” Athos whispers when they pull apart.

Aramis nods, their foreheads touching, squeezing Athos’ doublet under his fingers.

“Alright, now I need to go. I will see you later,” Athos whispers after another quick kiss. Aramis releases him and, after a smile and a wink, he leaves Athos alone, taking another direction.

Athos sighs, fixing his hat, and turns toward the market.

He planned this long before the Queen's invitation and he already has something stocked away that he bought in Paris, but he wants to buy a thing or two in addition. Something useful.

Making gifts for Christmas Eve is a family tradition and until last year, when D'Artagnan arrived in their lives, he thought he'd never celebrate Christmas anymore. Instead the boy, and Aramis, have changed the way he looks at the festivities. Now, he has a purpose to enjoy everything this holiday brings.

The first stand he encounters is one of the most famous in Paris. He's a blacksmith known even in the Shadow World. He's a mundane with the Sight and Treville is one of his best clients.

“Oh, Monsieur Athos, what a wonderful surprise to see you here!” he exclaims as soon as the musketeer stops in front of him.

“It's good to see you, Gerard,” he replies, smirking.

“What can I do for you, Monsieur?” the blacksmith asks, leaving the other clients to his capable son.

“I need to make a present for a new musketeer and I thought maybe some weapon could be a good gift,” he says, accentuating on the word musketeer.

“Oh yes, it could be a beautiful present. I have something that you would like. If you please follow me,” Gerard tells him, turning, sure that Athos will follow behind.

On the other side of the stand, in a dark corner, the blacksmith has a big closed trunk. The blacksmith rummages in his coat, revealing a chain, with a small key attached to it.

“I need to keep these things locked because you never know who or what you'd meet,” Gerard explains, opening the trunk. As soon as the lid is lifted, Athos sees something that catches his eyes.

“That one,” he exclaims, pointing inside the truck.

The blacksmith smiles, pleased, and he lifts the weapon Athos is pointing at.

“Good choice, Monsieur. I'm very proud of this and I hope the person who receives it will make good use of it,” he says, giving the weapon to Athos.

The sword seems to be made exactly for a woman. It's longer and thinner than his or Porthos' broadsword, and it's light too. He tests it for balance, even if he knows that Gerard is trustworthy and accurate in his work. Especially if his clients are the musketeers.

Satisfied with everything, he puts the sword in his scabbard and after paying the blacksmith, he leaves.

One gift made, four others to be made.

He's sure about Porthos and D'Artagnan’s presents but Aramis' is another story.

Because when he thinks about a proper gift for Aramis nothing is right or enough. He knows that his lover needs a new sash but he can't present himself with a book and a piece of cloth. He needs to find something different.

Passing another stand with some jewelry a thought occurs to him. Maybe… No he can't do that. He can't propose to Aramis on Christmas Eve. But maybe… No, that's not gonna happen. He can't find the courage to propose let alone organize a wedding.

He shakes his head to clear his mind and passes over it.

There's another stand some steps ahead and in that he finds what he's looking for.

There's a pair of boots that could be perfect for D’Artagnan. The boy’s already old ones are almost destroyed after a year of constant use. He picks them and then chooses a doublet for Porthos.

His brother had it from the first time he set foot in the garrison and Aramis passes most of their free time sewing the holes in it. So Athos decides that it could be welcomed by Porthos.

Athos is about to pay when he sees something to add to the sword for Constance. There are a pair of trousers not big enough for him or one of his brothers. He takes them and a shirt so Constance can trains with some proper clothes instead of those voluminous skirts she has.

From a merchant of fabrics he chooses a long stripe of blue cloth, perfect for a new sash for Aramis, and then he returns on his steps.

A young couple is in front of the jewelry stand and Athos remembers when he proposed to Anne. It seems along time ago. Anne's face vanishes and Aramis' takes its place. They never talked about it but he knows that Aramis thinks about it a lot. And he thinks about it too. But he's terrified. He takes a deep breath and approaches the stand.

A lovely lady is intent to show some rings to the young couple and he takes that time to see what she has on display. The rules are that one of them has to give their family ring to the other but his ring is forgotten on the bottom of his chest in his lodgings in Paris and he doesn't know where Aramis has his own. So if he wants a ring he needs to buy one. He scans the stand for the right one but he doesn't see what he's looking for. Every ring is too feminine or too wrong for Aramis.

“What can I do for you, Monsieur?” the woman asks, approaching him.

“I was looking for a gift,” he replies, still picking up the rings and checking them.

“For a lady, Monsieur?” she inquires, smiling.

“For a loved one, yes,” he says, not specifying if it's a woman or a man. The woman smiles again, showing him some of her most beautiful rings.

“I don't think there is one that catches my eye,” he says when the lady showed him everything.

“I'm sorry, Monsieur,” she replies, sad.

“Don't worry. It means it's not fate,” he says, defeated. He turns, determined to go back with empty hands when a sparkle attracts him.

“What is that?” he asks the woman.

“That is labradorite. It's a gem from the New World. Unfortunately it's the only sample I have here and it's not a ring, but a pendant,” she explains.

“Do you have a chain where I can put it?” he questions. That gem is amazing and Aramis will love it.

“Of course I have it,” she tells him, already inserting the gem in a chain that match the mount of the pendant.

Happy that he finally found the right gift, Athos pays the woman and leaves the market.

\------------------

He meets Aramis just outside the room the King gave him for his stay. “I was about to go looking for you,” he explains, smiling at his lover.

“And me, you,” Aramis replies, hugging him.

“I have something for you,” he whispers in Aramis' hair.

“A gift? For me?” Aramis squeaks, looking at him.

“Yes. It's tradition in my family to exchange presents on Christmas Eve and I thought that this could be a good occasion,” he explains, trying to restrain a happy Aramis.

“Did you have presents for the others too?” he asks.

“Yes, but I'll give them out tonight, after the party,” Athos says.

“So it's not fair that I have my present now and the others later,” Aramis retort.

“But this gift is so important that I cannot wait. And I have another one in store for you,” he replies, smirking.

“Alright,” Aramis grants. Athos nods, relieved that the first part of his plan went smoothly. Now comes the hardest part. They walk in the gardens covered in snow for a while and when Athos spots a bench, he sits down, bringing Aramis with him.

He tells Aramis what he did during the time apart, explaining the encounter with the lovely lady.

“She thought you were looking for a lady, right?” Aramis interrupts him, smirking.

“Yes. But I kept it vague,” Athos replies, smirking too. He continues telling his story until he puts the little envelope in Aramis hands.

“This could be everything and nothing. You can accept it as a simple gift or as a sign of my love and a promise to more,” he whispers, not sure about his little speech.

Aramis looks at him, and with trembling hands, he unwraps the little packet. When he sees what is inside, he can't believe to his eyes.

“Athos, it's beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes shine.

“My ring is in Paris and I didn't want to wait,” Athos murmurs, torturing his hands.

“Athos, this is a marriage proposal? Is what you are trying to say?” Aramis asks, bewildered.

“Yes, if you want it too. And a wedding too if you are willing to marry me today,” he replies, still not looking at his lover. Aramis forces him to lift up his face and Athos doesn't have time to protest that Aramis is already kissing him. Passionately.

“Is that a yes?” Athos croaks when Aramis finally releases his lips.

“Of course it's a yes, silly,” Aramis replies, kissing Athos again.

“There's only one problem. We don't have a warlock that can do a Portal to Alicante,” Aramis says, stopping kissing his lover.

“We don't have to go there to do it. We can choose a room in the lodge and do it there,” Athos explains.

“Or we can do that here, in the gardens,” Aramis replies.

“But you don't like the snow,” Athos states.

“Yes, but it's so beautiful that I can stand an hour outside in the snow,” Aramis says, happy.

“Alright. Let's go find the others,” Athos replies, standing up.

\------------------

They find a part of the gardens hidden by prying eyes and ears and the two of them are standing in front of each other.

Porthos and the Queen are on Aramis side, while D'Artagnan and Constance are on Athos'. No one talks until Athos takes a deep breath and nods. Aramis smiles and taking a hand in his, he squeezes it in reassurance. Athos smiles.

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death,” Aramis murmurs, his stele already out. He releases Athos' hand, unbuttoning his doublet and shirt with the now free hand, and he moves away the fabric.

He draws the runes in one swift motion, like he has done it several time already. He doesn't look at it the whole time, because he wants to see Athos face when the rune is placed. What he sees is pure love and devotion. He put a quick kiss on the rune when it is done and then he repeats the motion on Athos' right arm.

Athos closes his eyes at the sensation of Aramis’ lips on his arm and sighs, content.

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death,” he whispers when it's his time. He moves away Aramis' doublet and shirt and place the rune on his heart, tracing it with his fingers and his lips after, and then repeat the ritual on Aramis' right arm.

And then he kisses him. And who cares if the Queen is watching.  
He vaguely hears someone applauding and whistling, and someone laughing too. Aramis breaks the kiss only because he needs air. And when he does it he's grinning like an idiot.

And Athos too. They share another little kiss before D'Artagnan grabs his parabatai, hugging him tight.

Porthos does the same with Aramis.

“Told you that that spot was already taken,” he whispers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The labradorite is the same gem Aramis wore in Season 3. I need to thank Hayley Nebauer (the Costume Designer if the series) for telling me what gem it was.


	3. Porthos

The ammunition is stockpiled beside him. The only sound is his breath on the cold evening air, and he is even keeping that to a minimum. It must be a surprise attack or it will not work at all. No one can know that he is hidden in the tall, manicured bushes the line the edge of the gardens. If anyone finds out, they might strike first.

Porthos du Vallon will not accept that.

He had offered to help Anne… the Queen… with… whatever she might need help with, he wasn't really sure what the ladies were up to. She had kissed his cheek, because they were totally alone aside from Constance, and declined the offer. Apparently the ladies of the palace would do that. It is not his place to question the Queen, the woman he loves, or any lady - especially if they are all the same, so he left the hall with time on his hands.

Growing up in the Court of Miracles taught Porthos that time on his hands is not necessarily a good thing. He usually ends up getting himself in trouble. Always has, probably always will. But today it might be different. Today he intends to carry on a tradition that started before he became a Musketeer. It’s almost required of him, and he’s a little relieved that his offer was declined and he has time to play.

He tenses when he hears the crunch of someone’s boot on the snow covered path just on the other side of the hedge. Peeking through the leaves, he takes stock of who is there and settles quickly on a course of action.

D’Artagnan yelps in surprise when the snowball lands square against his shoulder.

“That yelp will get you killed in battle, whelp,” Porthos laughs, not moving to the younger musketeers sight.

D’Artagnan found him quickly anyway, scowling down at him. “I’d be prepared in battle, du Vallon, and a snowball won’t kill me.”

Porthos holds up his gloved hand and motions for the boy to come around and lean close. He does it again, much more impatiently, when D’Artagnan hesitates. “Come here, whelp, or I’ll tell your parabatai you squealed like a girl when I threw a snowball at you.”

That was not something he was interested in, at all, so he came around the edge and stopped in front of Porthos, arms crossed over his chest.

“Down!” Porthos hisses. “Before somebody sees you, get down!”

Despite thinking better of it, D’Artagnan ducks.

Porthos gives a triumphant grin. “That’s a good lad. Now,” he says, gesturing at the pile of ammunition, “this is what you throw. Make some now, while we wait.”

Eyes narrowed, he shakes his head. “Please tell me we are not pelting the King and Queen with snowballs.”

He gapes in shock, blinking snow off his long, dark eyelashes. “Please tell me you don’t think I’m that stupid! I like my head just where it is, thank you very much. No, not at them. This is war, see, and for the first time I am not outnumbered.”

D’Artagnan gives an impatient huff, his breath making a cloud. “Who are we, are you, at war against?”

“Athos and Aramis. Obviously.”

The younger musketeer gapes in shock this time. This seems like a bad idea. “You want me to throw snowballs at Athos? I’d rather throw them at the King, I think.”

Porthos snickers over the fear in the boy’s eyes. “That second sentence might be treason so… shush.” He is making snowballs at a rapid pace, absolutely sure that Athos and Aramis are doing the same. And D’Artagnan is no help at all. “Are you opposed to throwing at Athos because he’s your parabatai or because you’re afraid of him?”

D’Artagnan blinks and a heartbeat passes. “Both.”

The annual snowball war, during which Athos and Aramis conspired for years against Porthos, is getting better with every passing moment and Porthos struggles to quiet his laughter so he won’t give away their position. “Fine. Fair enough. You throw them at Aramis, I’ll throw them at Athos. Deal?”

Unable to see a way out of this, and unwillingly thinking of happy memories involving snowball fights on his father’s farm, D’Artagnan nods in agreement. “Deal. So long as you swear that Athos and Aramis have always been on a team against you.”

“I swear it… I swear it on the Angel,” he says for emphasis.

What neither of them realize, too wrapped up in their argument, is that Athos and Aramis have planned better. Having seen Porthos sneaking around the bushes that morning, they waited until he left to string a large piece of canvas between two trees above the spot where the other two are. It snowed all day and the sky was gray and gloomy at dusk when Porthos returned so he didn’t notice the shadow from the canvas. Minutes ago, Athos and Aramis crept through the gardens and silently climbed the trees again. They waited for their moment.

And the moment Porthos swears on the Angel, they use their daggers to cut the ropes on the canvas, burying Porthos and D’Artagnan in a mound of snow.

They are still laughing when their parabatai finally manage to wiggle out of the snow.

Athos holds up his hand when Porthos starts to protest. “We will play fair,” he says as they jump down from the tree. “If you can find your ammunition, throw it at us.”

They walk away, heads close together as they laugh at the total silence from the never silent Porthos.

D’Artagnan speaks only when Athos and Aramis are back inside the palace. “We’ll get them next year.”

Porthos sighs wearily. “By the Angel, I hope so. But I do like your spirit, partner. Sorry, I mean to say I do like your spirit, whelp.”

D’Artagnan rolls his eyes and sighs, smiling in spite of the cold snow dripping down the back of his shirt and down into his boots.

What none of the musketeers sees, in their preoccupation with winning and losing, is that they are about to be ambushed. They see nothing until a well-packed snowball lands square in the center of Porthos’ chest and another knocks Athos’ hat from his head. The men spin around, falling into old battle habits as they make a circle with their backs together. “This is supposed to be our game!” Porthos protests loudly. “Everybody at the garrison knows that! And none of them should be here anyway.”

“Perhaps your attackers are not from the garrison, Monsieur du Vallon,” a gentle, laughing voice calls out from some hidden place.

Athos chokes back a laugh, recognizing Queen Anne’s voice and wondering where she’s hidden herself. There must be someone else with her, since he and Porthos were not standing near each other. He bends to pick up his hat and sees a puff of snow stirred up as a whirl of skirts rush behind the nearest hedgewall. It’s the shortest glimpse but long enough to see sturdy boots on a lady’s legs rather than delicate ones. “I think the other belongs to you, parabatai,” he says softly.

“Constance!” D’Artagnan groans. “Where are you?”

“Somewhere,” she laughs. “I am definitely somewhere.”

“Why didn’t you throw at me?” he asks as the four turn together to find the women.

“Porthos stole a cake this afternoon, so I threw at him because I had to make another.”

Porthos does not deny what he had done, though the timid kitchen maid had all but thrown it into his hands when he looked at it. He knows he probably frightened her. But it had been very tasty. “Sorry.”

The Queen laughs from her perch behind a marble statue of Venus, Constance is crouched behind the wall of the now frozen fountain. The men still haven’t seen them. “You don’t sound sorry at all, Monsieur,” the Queen says, lobbing a ball that catches Aramis off guard when it strikes his shoulder. “So I am afraid your friends will pay with you for your crime of cake thievery, unless you can find us and defeat us first.”

Queen or not, it is a challenge and no musketeer can back down for a challenged. Hampered by their lack of snowballs for ammunition, the men focus on splitting up and searching. D’Artagnan finds Constance after a minute but, before he can declare victory, Queen Anne jumps from the statue and lands on Porthos’ back. “Do you surrender to your betters?” she whispers in his ear.

Grinning at your own defeat is bad form for a musketeer but Porthos can’t help it. In this moment, he’s just happy man with a pretty girl whispering in his ear. So he grins. “I do,” he whispers back before speaking louder so everyone else can hear. “We surrender to our betters.”

“Speak for yourself,” Aramis calls out, deftly dropping a handful of snow down his husband’s shirt and darting away when Athos roars.

It only takes a few minutes before the six of them are covered in snow and doubled over with the laughter of children. For a moment, they are young and carefree again.


	4. Aramis

Aramis has accounted for everything and everyone, except Athos. His husband of less than a day seems to be missing, or hiding. Aramis has no doubt that Athos is hiding and hoping that some crisis will come up that will keep him from the midnight mass at the palace chapel. They have never spoken much about Athos’ aversion to the church but Aramis knows it is there. He has suspicions about what causes the man he loves to avoid religion, things from his previous life and the Nephilim idea that all religions are equal, but he is waiting for Athos to tell him all of it.

He knows too that he is an anomaly among the Nephilim, clinging so close to one faith while the others go for the sake of appearances depending on where they are.

“There you are,” Porthos says as he rounds a corner. “Done with your secret meeting with the Queen?”

“You make it sound treasonous,” he sighs, “when we were only organizing small alms for the lower staff and villagers who will be at mass. You are going to be at mass, aren’t you?”

Porthos nods, giving nothing of his true feeling away. “Of course. And Constance is making D’Artagnan change his clothes for it now.”

Aramis chuckles at that. D’Artagnan probably didn’t need to be told to change out of the clothes he wore during the snowball fight but he won’t protest her telling him to do it either. “Have you seen Athos?”

The other musketeer shakes his head. “No. Need help looking for him?”

“Thank you but I have an idea where he might be.” He leaves Porthos to look for the Queen and slips into a hidden staircase that, after two short trips down spider web filled hallways and a second hidden staircase, leads to the highest part of the palace. It’s meant to be a lookout were the place to ever come under attack and Aramis knows his husband likes to go there to be alone and think.

And Athos is precisely where Aramis expects him to be.

“I’m going to mass,” Athos says in greeting.

“But you’d rather not.”

He glances at him and sighs. “Does that matter?”

“To me, yes.”

Athos’ breath catches at the soft sincerity of Aramis’ voice. “It… it’s hard for me to swallow sometimes. The idea of its purity and goodness when wars are fought, people are slaughtered in the name of one god being better than another. And then self-appointed men interpret what this angry and yet benevolent god means to us, the common man, and they tell us who to love, who to hate, how to live, how to die, what to think, what to be… and it seems so rare that we do it… that we do it right. Right according to what someone no better than us decides is right.” He stops himself there, casting a worried look at his husband. “I apologize. I’ve been too harsh on something you cherish. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Aramis shakes his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’ve thought many of those things before. I suppose,” he pauses to collect his thoughts and reach for Athos’ hand, “I suppose I’ve just convinced myself to overlook them.”

“I wish I could,” he sighs.

“You don’t have to. You can have faith, in God or in some higher power, without having religion, an institution created by man, Athos.”

A heartbeat passes between them and Athos smiles. “I’ve never thought of it like that. Thank you.”

Aramis gives him a small kiss on the lips.

“I will come to the mass, though, I promise you that.”

He would let Athos run away to the Spanish border to avoid it all if he asked, but Aramis accepts his word. “I’ve seen you admire the architecture at Chartres, the stained glass in Notre Dame, the music of the choirs in the abbeys and monasteries we’ve stayed at… the chapel here doesn’t quite compare to all that but you can still come for the art.”

He doesn’t expect to be emotional about this but he is. He cups Aramis’ face in his gloved hands and kisses him. “I’ll come for that, Aramis, but I will also come for you.”

  
The chapel is lit only with the flickering candles carried by those attending mass. Small boys, the sons of the higher ranking servants who are already being prepared to take holy orders, use long-handled tools holding candles to light the torches that line the walls around the altar and the nave. It is a full moon and the light filters through the stained glass, making patterns that sparkle on the stone floor.

Aramis thinks it is one of the most magical things.

He stands against the wall behind the chairs where King Louis, Queen Anne, and the rest of the royal family sit. The four musketeers are unofficially on duty, because the King has travelled some distance from the protected confines of the palace. Aramis doesn’t even mind that he isn’t there simply as one celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. He can do both, celebrate and worship while protecting a king chosen by God to rule over France.

Even if Louis XIII is not the best king France has ever seen.

Porthos and D’Artagnan stand behind the Queen, and Constance is beside her husband. Athos and Aramis stand behind the King. It is strange, on the one hand, to not be standing as parabatai but the King knows nothing of the Shadow World and Athos and Aramis are considered the best musketeers so they are assigned to him. Neither of them mind, since it means they get to be together.

Athos watches his husband watching the Cardinal tell the story of Christmas. It bothers him a little that the Cardinal speaks in Latin because while he and the other higher born men and women there were taught the language, the kitchen girls and the stable boys who stand in the back of the chapel understand nothing. If the message of it all is so important, they should be allowed to hear the message… just as Martin Luther said in his Ninety-Five Theses.

He shakes his head, pushing the heretical and possibly treasonous thoughts from his mind and focuses his attention equally on the Cardinal, the King, and on Aramis.

Aramis is his favorite focus, so serene and happy as he watches the ceremony with rapt attention.

Porthos watches the Queen, as he is supposed to do. He scans the crowd every so often but his eyes return to her. No one knows it but the jeweled comb she wears tucked into her hair was a gift from him. He was shocked when he saw that she intended to wear it but she simply told him that her husband did not keep track of the ornaments she had for her hair and would never know where it came from. He knows he could lose his life for what he is doing with her -the King knows and does not care, but that doesn't mean he won’t ever change his mind - he is, in this moment at least, quite sure he doesn’t care.

D’Artagnan knows Porthos will alert him if the Queen needs him so he, using Constance’s voluminous skirts as a shield, links his fingers through his wife’s. He was a little bit frightened for her when she Ascended and became a Shadowhunter, because it is a dangerous life. He is a little bit terrified now, knowing that they are to be parents in the summer. He knows Constance has told the Queen but he hasn’t told his brothers yet. He will tell them tonight. Maybe they can make him less afraid, since the thought of them already does… knowing that if something happened to him, they would take care of Constance and the child.

Aramis exhales with satisfaction as the mass comes to an end. The Cardinal didn’t indulge in anything extra, anything that would be considered opinion. He kept the service as it should be, the simple celebration of the day. Aramis had been shocked when the Cardinal asked for his input and he is more shocked that his advice was followed. He still feels a calling to holy orders, to anything holy, but he can’t, and won’t, let himself believe that serving Raziel as Nephilim and loving Athos is the greatest thing he can do in his life.

  
After mass the King wants to go back to his rooms via an underground passageway. The Queen lingers in the chapel, telling her husband that she wants to walk back through the snow covered gardens. He tells the musketeers to escort her and she links her arm through Constance’s. When the King is gone, his valet and two members of the Red Guard as his escort, Queen Anne walks outside with Constance. Away from the prying eyes of everyone else, she lets Constance go to D’Artagnan and she reaches for Porthos.

“Very clever, Your Majesty,” the other woman says with a smile.

The Queen smiles and motions toward Athos and Aramis. “I know the four of you, as musketeers are always on guard, and that the five of you, as Nephilim, are are always on guard. So walk how you like, with whom you like. I know you will be on guard so the rules will be followed and you can enjoy this night with those you love.”

The four men bow to her.

She laughs and waves them off. “None of that, please. Or at least no more of that.” With her word as final, she leads Porthos to the fruit trees frozen into sculptures with snow and ice.

D’Artagnan and Constance walk toward the ornamental fountains, their heads close together and their arms intertwined.

“Would you like to walk?” Aramis asks his husband.

Athos nods, turning toward the hedge maze. “In there, if you don't mind. There was a small maze on my father’s estate in Pinon. Thomas and I used to play there. It was the one place I think I was able to truly be a child and… play.”

Surprised that he shared something from his past, he waits to see if there is more.

Athos doesn’t say anything until they are deep inside the maze. “I haven’t been in any of the mazes at the royal houses,” he admits softly. “They seemed… childish, somehow.”

“And now?” Aramis asks.

“And now there is a mysteriousness… a romance to them. Not so childish after all.”

He wants to kiss him but Athos is the one out of his comfort zone so he waits. “Was the mass so very bad?”

Athos shakes his head. “Not at all. I think that, perhaps, it was better than I expected because I was able to see it through your eyes. That was a perspective I haven’t had before. It gave me a greater appreciation for it all.”

“I’m glad,” Aramis says softly. There doesn’t seem to be much to say, and the silence is not disagreeable but he asks what he feels compelled to ask. “Should we go back?”

“No.” He pulls him close as they stand in the center of the maze, the snow falling softly on their shoulders. “No, I said there was a romance in these mazes now. I want to kiss you, if that is allowed after midnight mass, before we find our way out.”

“It is allowed,” he says, a little breathless at their closeness.

So Athos kisses him, and Aramis kisses back.

And when they finally break apart, they are both breathless.

“Joyeux Noel, mon coeur,” Aramis whispers softly. “Joyeux Noel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me and [Skep](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Skep) want to wish you a Joyeux Noel!!!


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